


Just a Dream

by Winchester_with_Wings



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, F/M, Father is a HYDRA agent, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hydra (Marvel), Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Smut, The Colonel from CACW, The Winter Soldier - Freeform, takes during a flashback scene from CACW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 13:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6987559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winchester_with_Wings/pseuds/Winchester_with_Wings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*set in the time of a flashback scene from Captain America: Civil War*</p><p>Sometime in the early 90′s, you are the daughter of the Russian Colonel working for HYDRA. The Winter Soldier is assigned to protect you both. When the new supersoldiers go rogue, your father has the Winter Soldier deliver you to your quarters. He doesn’t know that you and the Winter Soldier are on more than a first name basis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> MY FIRST BUCKY FANFIC!! This probably has the most angst I’ve ever written but that doesn’t say much since I’m usually such a fluffy writer. I’ve seen Civil War three times. The first time I saw it, the scene where Bucky is training the other winter soldiers hit me hard. That scene inspired this fic. I’ve been obsessed with Sebastian for the last couple of weeks. It actually gave me writer’s block with everything else. So here you go! I hope ya’ll like it! Feedback is appreciated!
> 
> *most words in italics are being spoken in Russian, unless it’s obvious I’m trying to emphasize the word. Also, I bracketed the translation and spelling of the few Russian words I did include.*

The helicopter drops you off about thirty feet away from the front door to the HYDRA bunker in Siberia. You’re wearing only a leather jacket but you’re used to it, so you brave the cold while punching in the familiar 5-digit code. Your backpack provides an added barrier to the harsh wind.

No one questions you, a young woman in her twenties, walking through the HYDRA lair. Your head is held high and the look you give people is either one of superiority or disdain. In recent years–since you’d started thinking for yourself–you’d come to disagree with everything HYDRA stood for. But who were you to challenge it? You don’t actually work for HYDRA, though you’re trained for combat. That’s what happens when you’re the daughter of a Russian HYDRA Colonel.

His latest project has been overseeing the creation and training of the coveted supersoldiers, chosen from a pool of HYDRA’s elite death squad. The project has been a long and grueling one which has essentially turned him into a handler for the HYDRA Winter Soldiers; a concept which you wholeheartedly disapprove of.

It’s been awhile since you’d been “home.” At least a couple of weeks. Your father had sent you to school in the US and since graduating you’d been travelling. But you could never stay away for long. Not because your father was located here in Siberia, no. You came back because of _him_. The original Winter Soldier.

You greet your father in one of the lower levels of the bunker. A cold and calculated man, he doesn’t even bother to take his eyes off of the training to say hello.

“ _Daughter_ ,” he says in Russian.

“ _What is happening today?_ ” you respond in Russian. You’re holding your head high and looking straight ahead. Bad posture and empathy are high on the long list of things he disapproves of. You’re standing in a one of the smaller bunker rooms with glass walls and a barred, jail-like door. There’s a long bench along one side of the room. Several doctors and guards are standing next to it. You count four of the promising supersoldiers sitting on the bench, all of them dressed in tight indigo jumpsuits. Their eyes are all fixated on the training, as well.

“ _Assessments_ ,” your father speaks, again in Russian. He obviously prefers it to English, while you’re the complete opposite.

In the center of the room, the fifth and largest of the new supersoldiers is sparring with the original. The Winter Soldier has a brown hair that is long enough to frame his face and hang in his eyes. He’s got a short trimmed beard and his eyes are dark but you know they’re blue. He’s wearing all black and the coat he wears only has one sleeve, the left one having been cut off to accommodate his silver cybernetic arm.

They both move with strength and agility, the Winter Soldier is better as always, but only slightly. The other supersoldier appears to have anger on his side. You’re becoming increasingly worried as the two men throw and block punches and kicks. There’s one moment where you actually gasp as the Winter Soldier’s cybernetic arm just barely manages to block a blow to the head. Your gasp is as audible as the whirring of the silver arm, tensing up to be solid and strong.

The Winter Soldier must’ve heard your gasp because his eyes dart across the room to find you instantly. It’s only a momentary, millisecond-long glance but it provides just enough time for his enhanced opponent to take advantage and land a kick to the Winter Soldier’s side. You wince as his stance falters. He continues to block his opponent until an elbow connects with his brow and he goes down on one knee. The supersoldier knees him in the face, sending him backwards and down on the ground.

“Stop this,” you insist in a stern voice. Some of the doctors look inclined to listen to you but your father holds up a hand.

“No,” he tells the doctors. “ _Shut your mouth_ ,” he looks down on you with daggers in his eyes.

The Winter Soldier gets his bearings, knocking the other soldier on his ass with a twist of his legs from his position on the ground. They roll around on the ground for only a moment, a tangle of limbs, heavy boots, and flying fists. The Winter Soldier grabs the supersoldier’s right wrist and right ankle and throws him across the room. It gives them both the time to stand. The Winter Soldier’s chest is heaving. He keeps glancing over at you.

Is he concerned for you or asking for help? Certainly not the latter. The Winter Soldier is one of HYDRA’s best assets. A silent and deadly assassin. But from what your father has told you, these supersoldiers testing against the Winter Soldier are actually meant to be Winter Soldiers as well; they are the next generation. Is their final test to kill the original?

“ _Are you trying to kill him?_ ” you ask your father in Russian. You grimace but he doesn’t even care to glance at you.

“ _If that’s what it takes. It would certainly prove their skills_ ,” he responds. Right then the supersoldier spins around and kicks the Winter Soldier right across his broad chest. He is sent flying into a glass wall behind him. He crumbles to the ground. “ _Good work._ ” His words are directed at the newly enhanced soldier.

“ _Enough! No more!_ ” you shout as you drop your bag and run to his side. You kneel next to the Winter Soldier and put your back to the other supersoldier.

But he doesn’t listen. A painful grip squeezes your shoulder as the man pulls you to your feet and away from the Winter Soldier. You allow his pull on your body to fuel your own momentum and you whirl around and land a punch to his face.

You’re sure you’ve injured your hand but for about ten seconds you hold your own against the enhanced man, deflecting all blows and using his own energy against him as you had learned in various training sessions. No one comes to his or your aid; instead, they study how the supersoldier handles you as an opponent. To your frustration, your father clearly does nothing to stop the events. You realize the man’s footing isn’t as strong as the Winter Soldier’s or your own. You drop and swipe his feet out from under him. You hear the crack of his skull hitting the concrete.

Thinking you’ve successfully ended the duel, you move across the ground back towards the Winter Soldier.

Without fear or concern for your safety, you reach out with both hands. One hand covers the red star on his cybernetic arm, the other cradles his cheek and lifts his head. He’s bleeding from at least one or two cuts on his face. “James?” you dare to whisper, picking up his face. His crystal blue eyes search your features. You think you might notice a hint of recognition. And then he glances over your shoulder and his eyes go wide with…fear?

The familiar whir of his metal arm alerts you. His normal arm pushes you out of the way as his metal hand catches the supersoldier’s fist that had been meant for you. James Buchannan Barnes puts himself between you and his opponent. His stance is defensive as he twists the supersoldier’s fist. The enhanced man works his fist free enough to grab his arm. He twists his whole arm and it looks like the man is trying to break the cybernetic arm at the elbow.

A growl is building in the throat of the Winter Soldier. He shouts as he swings with his normal arm and frees himself, effectively stunning the supersoldier with a blow the head.

“ _Enough_ ,” you father’s calm and detached voice finally sounds. “ _That’s enough_.” Your father makes his way over to you and would’ve offered you his hand if the Winter Soldier hadn’t done so first. You take his hand and once standing, you don’t release it.

With a non-verbal command from your father, one of the doctors on the sidelines steps forward to the supersoldier who is standing at attention. He moves to simply touch the supersoldier, perhaps just to get his pulse but the man grabs the doctor by the neck. The doctor screams as he’s slammed face first into the ground.

Everything goes bad in a matter of seconds. The other four supersoldiers rise to their feet with a fire of defiance in their eyes. They start to attack the doctors and the HYDRA guards standing by. The small room is suddenly a mosh of enhanced humans pummeling HYDRA soldiers and guards. They outnumber the supersoldiers but hardly. A whole bunch of them stand between you and your father’s exit.

The Winter Soldier’s hand releases yours and moves to curl protectively around your waist, urging you to get behind him. Your father is behind you too. He pulls out his handgun and points it at all who come near him in the ensuing mess.

“ _Get us out of here_ ,” he commands the Winter Soldier, an elite assassin who had been assigned a few years ago as the Russian Colonel’s bodyguard. The Winter Soldier does as he is told, his hand on your waist keeping you close as he leads the two of you around the edge of the room towards the exit. The Supersoldiers and HYDRA guards don’t care to recognize what side the Winter Soldier is on. He has to punch his way through both breeds of opponents.

Once through the exit, the Winter Soldier slides the cage-like door to the room shut. Shaken by how quickly it had gotten out of hand, you shrug your retrieved backpack onto your shoulder. You notice the absence of the Winter Soldier’s hand on your body as your father demands his attention.

“ _Get her to safety. Do not leave her alone until this situation is handled and someone comes to retrieve you. Understood, Soldier?_ ” your father orders. The Winter Soldier nods curtly and with a slightly too tight grasp on your bicep, he escorts you back to your quarters.

 

* * *

 

He’s a solid menacing presence…like a statue or a gargoyle…standing guard at your door from within your quarters. He’s so serious, staring straight ahead and without interest. Why won’t he look at you? Does he even recognize you?

“James?” you murmur. His gaze flickers and falters, looking in your direction rather than at the bland gray wall.

You know the Winter Solider better than anyone else in this whole base. He’s not just the Winter Soldier. There’s an American soldier named James Buchanan Barnes underneath that brainwashed exterior. That’s the man who was protecting you a few minutes ago.

When the interest or recognition in his eyes disappears, you get to your feet, standing tall even without your snowboots.

“ _Soldier, sit,_ ” you gesture to a chair next to your bed. He recognizes your authority as the Colonel’s daughter and does as you command. You pull out your backpack and start to dig around, pulling out a file and a journal. It’s not the red one with a star that he is so familiar with. Instead it is small and blue.

You flip through pages of notes until you come to one that has been dog-eared over and over. You stand in front of James, his hands are tense, fingers digging into the tops of his thighs. He’s apprehensive, watching you stand before him with the book. All that’s missing are the machines but you don’t need those and you don’t want to or need to subject him to that.

“ _желание [zhelaniye; longing]_ ,” you begin. He flinches and his arm whirs in response to the familiar word. You understand that he might be uncomfortable so you continue to speak slowly. It’s taken you a long time to decipher and reconfigure the HYDRA triggers embedded in his mind.  “Summer, One Hundred, Seven, _возвращение на родину_   _[vozvrashcheniye na rodinu; homecoming]_ ,” he’s visibly relaxing as you finish, “Brooklyn…Rogers.”

The whirring of his arm dies down. You let the last word hang in the air.

Your words have released him. Awakened him. His shoulders slump an inch or so like a weight has been lifted from them. His face is downcast, his mouth parted slightly. You set the notebook down and hesitate to reach out to him.

“James?” you murmur. You push a few strands of his hair out of his eyes. He looks up at your from under his eyelashes.

“My name is Bucky,” he says with a slight upturn at the end, suggesting a question instead of a statement. You nod, humming in affirmation. You gently caress his cheek and he leans into your touch, his eyes drifting shut. A surge of emotions has overcome him and his eyes are misting over.

“That’s right,” you whisper, sitting down on the corner of your bed. “That’s right. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Do you know who I am?”

“You’re my…You’re…” he hesitates, his right hand coming up to cover your hand on his cheek, holding it there. “You’re Y/N. The Colonel’s daughter.” You hope he remembers that you’re more than that to him and he’s more than a bodyguard to you. Bucky takes your hand away from his cheek to look at it but his eyes go wide when he sees blood on your hand. “Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?” The fear in his voice is heartbreaking. Sometimes he remembers what he did as the Winter Soldier and sometimes he doesn’t.

“No, no,” you reassure him. “I’m okay. It’s yours,” you say, your voice shaking. The smears of blood make it look like it’s worse than it is. “I can fix you,” you promise. Bucky releases your hand as you move across the room to pull out a first aid kit.

“What did I do?” he asks as you stitch up the cut above his eyebrow. He hardly flinches, having experienced far greater pain before.

“You protected me. That’s what you did. That’s all that matters.” You put away the needle.

“I’ll always protect you,” he mutters, his hands coming up to grasp your hips where you stand in front of him. He grounds himself by hooking his fingers on your belt loops. He hugs your waist and you cradle his head to your stomach. You stroke the top of his head for a few minutes as Bucky takes several deep breaths. You let him be the one to decide when to pull away.

When he does, he looks up at you and while his cuts are stitched or bandaged, there’s still a mixture of blood, sweat, and dirt on his face.

“How about I clean you up, huh?” you say, tucking some of his hair behind his ear. From your old vanity and sink across the room, you gather a wash cloth and bowl of water and some scissors.

“You shouldn’t even bother,” Bucky grumbles.

“Nonsense,” you chuckle. You lay a towel in Bucky’s lap to catch any clippings as you trim his beard with the small scissors turning it into more of a stubble look. You don’t necessarily mind the length of it right now but it’s clear no one has been looking out for the Winter Soldier’s hygiene and appearance. After that you run your fingers through his hair, massaging his head. It’s greasy with sweat from training and you’re used to it. Bucky’s head tilts into your hand like dog seeking comfort.

“You’re grooming me,” he comments, a slight chuckle can be heard in his voice. “ _The image of the Winter Soldier must be maintained_ ,” he says begrudgingly in Russian as if it’s a written law. You pinch his chin between your thumb and forefinger, lifting his face to look up at you.

“English only.” You prefer Bucky to speak in English because he is an American, not the Russian HYDRA has turned him into. “And I’m only cleaning you up. So I can see those eyes. And that boyish smile.” Bucky gives you the small smile you’re asking for as he chuckles at your flirtations. His smile is soft and it’s only for you. “That’s better.” You resist the urge to press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. All in good time, maybe. Bucky’s mental state is fragile and there are more important things that need your attention.

You start to unbutton and unzip his leather jacket. After that, you discard his white tank top. Bucky doesn’t protest. He’s bruising in a couple of places on his abdomen, which you inspect. As an enhanced soldier, it’s hard to hurt him but the other supersoldier sure gave it a shot. You surmise that all of the bruising are only bruises and not signs of broken bones underneath.

You dip the rag into the bowl of lukewarm water. You focus on his face first, wiping away all traces of blood. Bucky is watching you intently, looking you up and down and observing the concentration in your eyes as you clean him up. You wring out the rag twice before moving to wipe down his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen.

The action is intimate and charges the tension between the two of you.He’s always been an exceptionally fit man with well-defined muscles you probably know better than anyone. He flinches though when you start to dab the cloth near the seam in his skin where his metal arm attaches. He looks away from your gaze, ashamed or uncomfortable. You mold your hand to his shoulder cap on the metal arm; once again covering the red star.

You discard the rag and cup his cheek to make him look up at you, reassurance in your eyes. His gaze flickers over your face and body.

“Your hair is longer,” he mutters, reaching out with his right hand to take a strand of your soft hair between his fingers.

“Yeah, well it’s been awhile since we’ve been together.” There’s an almost implied double meaning to that last word. Bucky definitely catches it. The corner of his mouth ticks up in a slight smirk.

“I like it.” He even dares to tug gently on it.

“Your hair is longer now too. Maybe I should trim it? Did no one bother to give you a mirror?” You card your fingers through his hair, trying to muss it up and change the part but it always falls back to the middle.

“I don’t want a mirror,” Bucky mumbles, the self-loathing in his voice evident. How much is he remembering right now?

“But then how would you see what I see every time we’re together?” You dare to sit in his lap, straddling his thighs and draping your arms over his broad, bare shoulders. “Because I see a very handsome man, with a good heart,” you touch your hand to his chest, “but weighed down by conflict and guilt. You don’t have to feel that way around me. I’m here for you, Buck. I know what you’re battling and you don’t have to fight it alone.”

Bucky responds to you by looping his arms around your waist. “I missed you,” he murmurs. He buries his face in your neck as if he’s ashamed to have the emotion, or any emotion at all. He tightens his embrace around your body, bringing your chest and your hips flush with his.

“I missed you too. I’ll always come back to you, Bucky. Until the day we can leave together.” Because that’s the dream. “I’m still working on that damn code though,” you grumble, nuzzling his hair. Taking Bucky away from HYDRA is one thing–one incredibly difficult, near impossible thing–but to truly be free of HYDRA you’d have to erase the triggers they’d implanted in his mind. It had taken you at least a year to design your own trigger words to unlock and bring Bucky out of the Winter Soldier at will but to erase trigger words completely is a whole other feat. “We’ll be free someday Bucky, I promise.”

Bucky’s hands slide up your spine, splaying out between your shoulder blades. He raises his face to look at you and one of those hands–his metal one–comes up to cup your cheek. His hand is hesitant, just hovering over your skin. You’re the one this time that leans into the other’s touch. The Winter Soldier isn’t afraid of his metal arm but Bucky Barnes has a hard time trusting the cybernetic arm which allows him to be reset with just a couple of words and electroshock therapy.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, leaning in closer to his face. His steel blue eyes keep darting from your gaze to your mouth. You lick your lips, taking calm breaths which he imitates. “It’s okay, Bucky. You won’t hurt me. You’ve never hurt me.” Bucky sits up straighter in his seat, effectively closing the distance between your lips.

The first kiss is soft and nervous, like he has to remember how to kiss and what it _means_ to kiss someone. But the ease into which you succumb to his simple touch, and the brush of your lips on his has him remembering in no time.

As he sucks on your bottom lip, his metal hand slides away from your flushed cheek and into your hair. His other hand is strong, pressing your body into his. You wrap your arms around his neck, prematurely grinding your hips against his as you straddle him. Sitting in his lap like this had become almost second nature. You’ve always loved this position, grinding and riding Bucky as he sits in a chair. And judging by the groan that escapes his throat, Bucky thoroughly enjoys the sensation of you in his lap too. You can already feel his growing erection pressing against the crotch of your pants.

His hand in your hair has him tilting your head one way while he leans the other way. Bucky has always loved taking charge of your passion. For someone who’s always under someone else’s control, he loves to take it from you, and you give it willingly.

He captures your bottom lip between his teeth, his kisses becoming fervent. He’s practically feral, desperate to feel something, to feel you. The love he feels for you, the love that can never be erased, is rising to the surface.

He pushes your jacket off your shoulders. But the stiff leather catches on your arms, pulling them behind you like a restraint. You stop kissing him to shake your shoulders and shimmy out of the coat but Bucky’s grinning, clearly liking the look of you restrained. You chuckle with the spark of challenge in your eyes. Bucky loves it, growling while he lurches forward to capture your lips again.

He releases the jacket, letting it fall away and then he’s tugging at your shirt. You think you might hear a stitch or two tear and he pulls the garment over your head. His fingers make quick work of your bra clasp. It’s especially easy as you grind on his lap again, rolling your body into him, pushing your breasts into his face. He nips at the tops of your breasts before he completely removes your bra. Your fingers tangle in his long hair, holding the back of his head as he takes your breast into his mouth. He suckles and bites your nipple as his metal hand comes up to grab your other breast.

But he hesitates and withdraws his hand. It’s stronger than his other one. If he’s distracted, he might not be able to control his grip and may leave bruises. You know that’s how he feels because he’s told you before. But you’re not afraid.

You grab the wrist of his cybernetic arm and hold the cool metal of his hand to your free breast. The chill runs a shiver down your spine. Your head falls back, lost in the pleasure of Bucky’s mouth on you and the friction of your grinding in his lap.

“Mmm, yes, Bucky, yes,” you say breathlessly. He tugs on your nipple with his teeth before pulling back and switching to the other breast. His warm, natural hand comes up to the abandoned breast to knead and tease. But soon both hands are on your hips, holding on tight and guiding you up and down on his lap. His eyes squint shut at the intense sensation. You use the momentary distraction to tug on his hair, pulling his head back so that you can assault his mouth with your tongue.

The grinding becomes too much for him soon. His hips are thrusting up and his breathing is becoming ragged. His enhanced strength allows him to lift you to your feet with ease. He starts to undo your pants, pulling them down so fast that you almost fall forward–he would’ve caught you. Your hands fly to his belt and undo it. You can’t get his pants off of him until he stands, but by then he’s seen you in your sky blue panties and he’s lunging forward, scooping you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. He gets his pants off all on his own as he carries you across the room and then pins you against a wall. Even his boxer briefs are black.

You kiss passionately, swallowing Bucky’s moans. He whimpers as if he’s dying of thirst and kissing you is his only relief. His lips part from yours. He kisses a line along your jaw; his natural hand is tilting your head up, while his other arm is under your ass, holding you up with little effort. He nips at your earlobe.

“I’ve missed you so much, Y/N,” he whispers. “I need you. I can’t be without you.” He thrusts his clothing-clad cock against you, making you gasp.

“You’ll never have to be,” you reply. Bucky’s lips connect with yours once more. He allows for some space between your bodies. His motives become clear when his natural hand slithers between you two and towards your aching center. He hooks a finger on the fabric, pulling it aside before running a finger down and between your folds. Through his kiss, you can detect his cocky grin at feeling how much he’s affected you.

His finger slides into your entrance and you gasp, hands clutching at his shoulders. Bucky is the only man you’ve ever been with and it’s been awhile since you were together this way. You were bound to be tight, almost virginal judging by your current tightness. Bucky loves it.

“You’re all mine, baby doll,” he says, amused. He crooks and pumps his finger–and then another–in and out of you, winding the spring for the best pleasure you’ve ever felt. His fingers leave you right on the edge and you sigh with disappointment. Until you realize he’s awkwardly pushing down his boxers by an inch or so.

His cock springs free, hard as Greek marble, and it’s automatically lined up with your entrance. His purple cockhead bounces and hits your clit more than once. Bucky’s metal arm adjusts its grip on you, hitching your hips a little higher so that he can sink you down onto him.

“You sure you want this?” he asks, the concern back in his eyes for a second. Your own gaze is hazy with lust and your chest is heaving as you take deep breaths. Bucky doesn’t even notice how close your perky breasts are to his face. His eyes are locked on yours. You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck and wiggling your hips signalling you’re readiness.

Bucky slowly lowers you down onto his cock. Your slick entrance receives him well, though only an inch or so at a time. He takes his time, pulling out and then going back in just a bit deeper, until he is finally sheathed inside you. Bucky buries his face in your neck.

Your warmth envelopes him and you constrict around him, adjusting to his size. His brow is furrowed when he lifts his head to look at you. You take the initiative, using the concrete wall behind you as leverage to undulate and rock your body against him. It’s not the fastest pace in the world but it’s a good start with slow but short strokes. You bite your lower lip in concentration and pleasure. Bucky’s head falls back as he moans.

“You like that, baby.” It’s a statement. Not a question. His nod is small and distracted. “I won’t break, Buck,” you reassure him when he tries to resist the urge to thrust. One moment of consideration and then Bucky is rolling his hips and thrusting up into you at a relentless pace. The cybernetic arm holding you up is more bearable than the rough burn of your sweaty back against concrete. Your first orgasm makes you forget that entirely.

It startles Bucky. You cry out and arch your back, squeezing his arms and convulsing all around him. You might look like you’ve been struck by lightning and it’s that ‘electrical’ response that worries Bucky for a moment. But the look on your face, one of surprise and pleasure and slight weariness, reassures him once more. You lean forward to kiss him and it’s while you kiss that Bucky removes you from the wall and walks you over to the bed.

Without pulling out of you, he lays you down on the bed, his body hovering over yours. He starts moving again at a slow pace, preoccupied with the way you look and ghosting his fingers over your body with his natural hand. His most intimate touches come from that hand. He must figure you’d prefer a normal finger when rubbing and circling your clit.

He will likely always be hesitant to touch you intimately with his other hand. What he seems to forget is that you’ve never minded the metal arm. It’s a part of him. And it will still be a part of him when you get him away from HYDRA. _And_ you actually like the cool touch of metal on your body during sex; it’s refreshing when you’re sweating from the exertion. Besides, the metal isn’t always cold. The longer it’s on your skin, the faster it warms up from your body heat. Right now his left hand is on the outside of your thigh, lifting your bent leg higher for a greater pleasure.

He picks up his pace, not sure how much longer he can last. His stubble leaves a slight beard burn along your collarbone. He peppers your chest, your throat, your face, with quick kisses. His left hand slides up your thing and squeezes your ass. His right hand is under your back, arching your body, raising your hips for a better angle for you both. With each hard thrust, you gasp and he grunts.

You can’t manage to say anything else besides: “God, yes, oh god, fuuuuuck, it feels so good Buck, mmmm, mmhmm, right there, god you’re so deep, I’m coming, I’m coming again.” Bucky on the other hand is speechless, lost in concentration and unbridled passion.

He slams into you, hissing the word or rather the sound, “unfff!” He does it a few more times, turning you into a whimpering, out of breath, mess who’s wrinkling the sheets as you clutch at them. “Goddamn, you feel so good,” he growls, his teeth grazing the line of your jaw. Bucky’s fingers weave through yours and he holds them on either side of your head on the pillow, pinning you. “I’m so close,” he mutters near your ear. You raise your hips, your legs around his waist pull him in deeper.

“Then come for me, baby.”

And he does after a few more rapid thrusts. His face is red, his jaw clenching and twitching in order to suppress his guttural growls. He spills himself inside you while you come with him; his thumb is pressing hard on your clit.

When you’re no longer writhing like a woman gone mad with love and pleasure, your deep breathing gives you a chance calm racing heart and catch your breath. Buck collapses on top of you, leaning slightly so that he doesn’t crush you. He nuzzles your throat, pressing tiny, lazy kisses to your pulse. He’s breathing heavily, close enough to your ear that the two of you synchronize in breath and heartbeat.

“I love you, Doll,” he breathes, placing another kiss on your hot skin. The pet name come out as a force of habit but it feels foreign to him at the same time. You giggle and flash him a smile. “so much,” he mumbles and chuckles.

“I love you too, Buck,” you peck him on the nose which he scrunches up, making you giggle some more. The two of you lay there, Bucky playing with your hair and your hand rubbing his back in soothing circles. The sweat that had at first overheated you both and made you stick together is now cooling you off, giving you goosebumps. Your one exposed nipple (the other is under Bucky’s body) pebbles and Bucky can’t resist the urge to play with it, his metal fingers only adding to your chill. It makes you squirm and that’s when Bucky realizes he should pull out of you. He does so slowly. He gets out of bed to grab a fresh cloth to clean himself and you. He’s frowning after discarding the rag.

“What’s wrong, _my darling_?” you ask him. He pulls on his boxer briefs and offers you your panties and shirt.You put them on while he crawls back into bed.

“We didn’t use protection,” he replies. You inform him that it’s okay because you’re on the birth control pill. You snuggle up to his body, fitting easily into the crook of his right arm and resting your head on his shoulder.

You both lay there in silence some more. You start to play with his left hand, your fingers twiddling with his metal digits. You marvel at how fluidly they move. It makes it easy to forget that his arm is a prosthetic, though Bucky doesn’t like to forget it. He eventually, lays your hand on his stomach and covers it with his own. You shift the placement of your head from his shoulder to his chest.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him. He looks like he’s somewhere else, staring at the wall.

“Being here with you…it feels like a dream,” he replies, his voice is a deep rumble you can feel and hear through the ear you have pressed to his chest. You smile.

“Because the sex is _that_ good?” you tease. Bucky’s chuckle reverberates through your skull. He pinches your hand.

“It is, but that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“Because…” he sighs, “Because I feel like I’m gonna wake up from it suddenly…and forget everything.” His voice cracks. You sit up, propping yourself up on your elbow. You make Bucky look at you.

“No, Bucky. Don’t think like that.” You can feel desperate, hot, and angry tears well up in your eyes. “I’m going to get you out of here. We’re going to get away from this place. Away from my father. Away from HYDRA. We’ll go to New York and we’ll be together. Because…that’s what we deserve, okay?” Bucky pulls you into his arms, your hot tears dampening his chest. He shushes you, running one hand through your hair and the other rubbing your back in circles.

“Shh, it’s gonna be okay. I love you too. We are gonna make it,” he says, trying his best to sound optimistic.

Once you’ve calmed down, you readjust your placement on the bed, grabbing the file and the journal you’d set down earlier. You snuggle up to Bucky. You flip through the pages. Showing him documentation of your travels. He gets grumbly and jealous when he sees a picture of you with a male tour guide in Sweden and another in Peru.

“Nothing happened though,” you explain. “They didn’t mean anything to me. I told you Bucky, I’ll always come home to you.” You put aside the journal and open the file folder. “I went to Washington D.C. recently.”

“Does your father know? Did he send you there?” Bucky asks, his arm around your shoulders tightening slightly out of protectiveness.

“No, I went there for you.” He’s confused. “There’s a museum there. An exhibit I wanted to see. You’re in it.” Bucky’s brow furrows and he frowns.

“I am? Why?”

“You were a Howling Commando, remember?” You start to show him the pictures you’d taken of the exhibit, the pamphlets, the photocopies of pages from books about Captain America and his unit in WWII. “Do you remember any of this?” The whole file and most of your journal are dedicated to Bucky and who he was, who he is. You try to gently remind him of his past in case it helps to set him free. He seems receptive to your help but you note the glint of hopelessness in his eyes. He’s holding a picture of him and Captain America. “That’s Steve. Rogers. Remember him? He’s one of the words. You told me once that he was your best friend.” Bucky nods, tears brimming in his eyes. “Hey, hey baby, we can stop. We don’t have to do this.” You start to put everything strewn about on the bed back into the file. “I’m sorry.”

“No. It’s okay,” Bucky halts your movements. He rubs at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Do you want to keep the picture?” you ask, noticing how tightly he’s holding it. He hands it to you.

“No. It wouldn’t be safe with me. They’d find it,” he says, his gaze drifting over to your bedroom door. It’s thick and soundproof. For all you know, there could be guards walking up and down the hallway.

“Okay.” You take the picture back, tuck it into your journal and, after setting them next to you, you roll into Bucky’s body, resting your head on his chest. “Just talk to me, Sweetheart. About anything.”

“This time is different than my time,” he shrugs. You wonder where he’s going with that. Of course the ‘90s are very different from the ‘40s. You’re not sure when he was last let out of the Siberian bunker much less the last time he was in America. Your father might’ve mentioned some night mission The Winter Soldier had been sent on in ‘91. So maybe a year?

“Just wait until I get you back to America. It is a big difference,” you giggle. “American girls dress way different than they did in your time.” Bucky grins.

“I like how you dress,” he comments, his hand pats your bottom and tugs at your panties.

“What would it be like if we were together in the ‘40s?” you ask him. Bucky chuckles and raises his eyebrows.

“Oh it’d be different, Doll.” Bucky runs his fingers through his hair, brushing it out of his face. His tone makes you excited.

“Really? How?” You prop your chin up on his pec to look at his face.

“Well, for starters, this,” he gestures between you and him in a circle; his crotch and yours are included in that circle, “wouldn’t have happened, the way it did, I mean.”

“Oh,” Your face falls. You pull back and start to sit up. You turn your back to him but the moment you started moving Bucky sits up too.

“Doll, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. He hooks one arm around your back and his metal arm under your knees, turning you back around to sit facing him. “Look at me.” His hands cup your face and he lifts your gaze to meet his.

You’re pouting, instantly sensitive and guilt ridden. You’d thought you and Bucky coming together had been special. Two people, prisoners, held captive–Bucky by HYDRA and you by your father–finding solace and love in others arms.

“Come on, Baby Doll, let me explain.” Bucky’s actually kind of smiling like he thinks it’s funny that you misunderstood him. That annoys you and makes you scowl at him. He chuckles. “What I meant was, back then…I would’ve courted you, asked you out,” he gets this charming smile on his face. He’s twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, “I’d take you out for a night on the town, that way I could show everyone that you’re my girl.” He bites his bottom lip, tugging on that strand of hair like he’d done earlier. You can see it in his eyes, the real Bucky, the charming soldier from the 40s is coming out of his shell. “Maybe we’d go to Coney Island. I’d win you a teddy bear. We’d kiss on the ferris wheel,” Bucky leans in and gives you a sweet, slow kiss. He doesn’t move more than an inch away from your lips as he continues spinning his tale. “We’d park and kiss some more but no more than that.”

“Why?” you whisper and giggle, leaning in to kiss him again. Bucky’s hand smooths over your hair and he cups the back of your neck. He pulls away and smiles.

“Because Doll, you’d be my wife before I’d try anything like that.”

Your breath and your heart catch in your throat. You’re stunned, your lips parted with shock. He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. You crawl into Bucky’s lap and wrap your arms around his neck. Bucky’s strong arms, natural and metal, loop around your waist. Your lips crash against his. He laughs and falls back into the bed, rolling over on top of you.

“Would you have said yes if I’d asked you?” You take the plunge with your answer.

“I’d say yes if you asked me today.” Bucky’s grin nearly splits his face. He doesn’t let you get another word in, stealing a kiss, your breath, and your heart.

It’s looking like round two is about to start. Bucky is rolling his body, undulating his hips into yours. You hold his face between both hands. Clinging to him like a lifeline, you push your fingers into his hair. You hook one leg around his, effectively giving yourself the leverage to roll Bucky back over.

Despite the enhanced strength Bucky has on you, he lets you take control. He lets you pin his hands to the bed and straddle his hips once again. You release his hands to rake your fingers down his bare chest. His hands fly to your hips, then to your ass where he encourages you to grind down on him harder. You can feel his cock getting hard once again.

“Yeah, Baby Doll, just like that. Unng, feels so good,” Bucky grunts, his fingers dig into the flesh of your ass, likely leaving bruises.

“Mmm…mmhmm, yeah,” you whimper, biting your lower lip. One of Bucky’s hands slides under your shirt and takes hold of your breast. You’re ready to peel away Bucky’s boxers, but then a loud bang sounds at your door.

Another bang and the door bursts open!

Bucky’s reflexes react instantly, swiftly but carefully rolling you off of him and then jumping out of bed. Your modesty goes out the window as you’re fueled with rage. Your father storms in with several HYDRA soldiers in tow. There’s maybe a hint of surprise in his eyes suggesting he didn’t know about you and Bucky, only that a locked door was a bad sign. But that surprise goes away as he observes the state he’s found you both in.

“ _Take him!_ ” your father, the Colonel, commands. The soldiers–not enhanced but just enough to outnumber and overpower–charge for Bucky. Bucky fights the first few off, never leaving your bedside so that he can protect you. But you get off at the other side of the bed.

“ _Father! Stop this! Let him go!_ ” you shout. Bucky is hit by at least three stun guns at once; he falls to his knees. He’s weakened enough for the HYDRA men to restrain him. Your father steps forward, looking you up and down with disgust and then at Bucky.

“ _You have defiled my daughter, Soldier_ ,” you father spits out. Bucky’s head is down. One the HYDRA soldiers pulls on Bucky’s hair, lifting his head. Buck’s got bared teeth and defiance in his eyes.

“ _No, Father! I love him!_ ” you blurt out. Your father waves a hand and two more HYDRA soldiers come in to hold you back. Your father looks around the room, your clothes strewn about. The file and journal on your nightstand catch his eye. He starts to walk towards it and both you and Bucky fight to escape the men holding you back. Your father flips to random pages in both items. Of course, what he finds is information on Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes. Your father recoils instantly.

“ _Take him to the chair!_ ” He orders, picking up your documents.

“Noo!!!” you scream, kicking and pulling at the hands gripping your arms. Bucky’s eyes go wide with fear. He tries to fight but there are too many people on him. If he breaks one hold another replaces it. Together, the hoard of HYDRA guards drag Bucky out of the room. You’re tugged along and your father, he follows with your journal and Bucky’s file in hand.

Everyone that was in your room now gathers in the large room where all the supersoldiers are kept. You notice that all five men and women who had caused a commotion earlier have been put into their cryogenic sleep.

A large boot to the back of each knee makes Bucky kneel again. His eyes defiantly refuse to look at the chair in the center of the room just a few feet away from him.

You’re still standing. “Don’t do this!” The Colonel whirls around, backhanding you across the face. Bucky’s reaction is aggressive, his cybernetic arm whirrs, recalibrating fast enough that he can pull his arm free. He hits at least three men and is almost to his feet when he’s stunned again.

“ _Put him in the chair_ ,” your father commands.

Bucky is forced into the chair, restrained by several straps and metal cuffs. They force a rubber mouthpiece between his teeth and hold him down as the machine comes to life, lowering the devices which administer the electricity. Bucky spits out the rubber piece.

The screams that tear themselves from Bucky’s throat break your heart. You’re crying, still trying to break free until someone finally forces you to your knees as well.

Bucky’s electrocuted–because that’s what it is, it’s not electroshock therapy, not at that voltage–for five long minutes. He not once stops fighting and screaming through clenched teeth.

“ _What is your name?_ ” your father asks him. He doesn’t answer. “James?” He’s removed from the chair and forced back onto his knees. You’re maybe twenty feet apart. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you.

“My name is Bucky,” he growls.

“ _Very well. Prepare for stasis,_ ” you father says calmly. Anyone who isn’t restraining you or Bucky moves to the one empty cryochamber in the room. Your father then speaks the words he usually needs a book for. “ _желание [zhelaniye; longing]._ ”

Bucky tosses his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. He can’t cover his ears because men are holding them back. “No,” Bucky whispers.

“ _ржaвый [rzhavyy; rusted]_.”

“Stop. Don’t.”

“ _Семнадцать [Semnadtsat’; seventeen]._ ”

“Noo! You don’t understand! I love her! I love Y/N.” His words fall on cruel and deaf ears.

“ _Рассвет [Rassvet; daybrea])_!”

Bucky’s arm starts to recalibrate. He shouts, his control is waning. You try to break free, crying and shouting for mercy. Someone steps on the inside of your ankle, breaking it. You scream out in pain. Bucky’s eyes flash to yours, full of anger, pain, and fear. There’s tears falling silently down his cheeks.

 _“Печь [Pech’; furnace]. Девять [Devyat’; nine]._ ” Your father starts to light your journal and the file on fire. He drops them to the floor in front of him and lets them burn.

“ _No! No more!_ ” Bucky shouts. “I love her!”

“ _добросердечный [dobroserdechnyy; benign]_.”

 _“Father! I love him!_ ” you echo. He ignores you both. Someone tries to shut you up. You hear the click of someone cocking the hammer of a pistol.

“ _возвращение на родину [vozvrashcheniye na rodinu; homecoming]_.”

The sight of a gun held to your head makes Bucky freeze. The last remaining will he has is spent staring at you, crying and shaking his head hopelessly.

 _“Один [Odin; one]._ ”

“I love you, Y/N,” Bucky mutters, his shoulders slumping forward in defeat.

“Bucky! No!” you scream.

“ _грузовой вагон [gruzovoy vagon; freight car]._ ” Your father, the Russian Colonel, Agent of HYDRA says the final goddamn word. Bucky’s frame goes stiff. His head is hanging, looking at the ground.

With a smug grin on his face, your father looks down on you. He doesn’t seem to care that a gun is trained on you. He knows that they won’t actually shoot. The men behind you try to bring you to your feet, but you’re weak and hopeless. Your father turns back to Bucky. He’s been pulled to his feet.

“ _Солдат [soldat; soldier]?_ ”

The Winter Soldier lifts his head.

“ _я готов отвечать [Ya gotov otvechat; Ready to comply]._ ”

The Colonel condemns the original Winter Soldier to an indefinite cryogenic stasis.

You collapse to the ground with hot tears streaking down your face and the cold barrel of a gun pressed to your head. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah…so, that was heavy. I’d love to hear what ya’ll thought! And don’t worry…my future Bucky fics won’t be so sad. In fact, that lil 40s fantasy Bucky had will be turned into a oneshot eventually too!


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